


Past Midnight with Junior's

by youwilllovemylaugh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Belly Kink, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, M/M, chubby!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwilllovemylaugh/pseuds/youwilllovemylaugh





	Past Midnight with Junior's

Some nights are better than others, some weeks are rougher than others. Some months, Steve gets whole weeks of uninterrupted sleep at night; others, and Steve's spending three out of four nights fighting for his life against Bucky's metal arm, while its sleep-walking, night-terror-experiencing owner remains unreachable.

This month is a bad one. Steve isn't fighting for his life - that was last night - but Bucky is restless beside him, thrashing around in his sleep, muttering in Russian, in German, in Swedish, in some Slavic dialect Steve doesn't recognize. He's repeating phrases in the last language, frustratingly indecipherable, and Steve watches his face twist through several different emotions - rage, determination, confusion - wondering if it's best to wake him or let him sleep it through. And then Bucky is crying, he's crying in his sleep, and Steve can't set about waking him faster.

"Bucky," he murmurs, smoothing Bucky's hair back and pressing kisses into Bucky's cheeks. "Easy, buddy, it's time to wake up."

It takes a few minutes, of kisses and repeated whispers, to get Bucky to startle awake, and another few minutes to calm him down enough that he won't use his arm unexpectedly. He's fine for a few seconds, sitting up, drinking some water from a glass Steve had by the bed, and then he's crying, and Steve's eyes feel like they're going to pop out of his head.

He's trained in hand-to-hand fighting, he knows how to disarm the metal arm. All of that is fresh in his mind. But this is old - this requires remembering, back to the fuzzy memories of the 1930s and 1940s, when Bucky would wake up sobbing in their apartment after his mother died, and Steve was the only one left who could comfort him.

There was one surefire thing that would get him out of this.

Slowly, Steve leads him to the kitchen. In the old days, a friend of theirs named Harry Rosen used to make cheesecakes. He was a couple years older, lived down the block from them before the war, and he'd always leave them a cheesecake on Sundays, with invitations to join his friends for poker later that night. Steve tried to track him down for a while after he'd returned. It wasn't long before he'd found an obituary - the man had been dead since 1996, he was sad to learn - but he'd left behind him a legendary cheesecake shop, founded after the war and based in Brooklyn, a few blocks from where he and Steve and Bucky all used to live.

The cheesecake, which Steve had bought several times at the grocery store since returning, was the ticket to Bucky's recovery. Steve sits the still-sniffling Bucky in a chair at the kitchen table, and opens the fridge. There are three slices of cheesecake left in the Junior's box. Steve takes it out and slaps the round piece of cardboard on which they sit onto the table. He gets two forks, thinks better of it, and leaves one behind.

"Here," he says, getting Bucky's attention. The look in Bucky's eyes is reminding Steve too much of the look Bucky had given him on the helicarrier, so hurt and so afraid and so confused. "This will make you feel better."

Bucky looks at him, then at the cheesecake Steve is proffering on the fork. "Is this ... ?"

"Harry Rosen's," Steve confirms, and then gestures at Bucky's lips.

"How?"

Steve smiles sadly. "He got famous for it. I got this at the grocery store." Bucky stares at him, and Steve can't get a read on how he feels about that information. "Open up."

He does, and Steve feeds him the bite. Steve watches as his muscles start relaxing. His arm clicks. Steve feeds him another bite.

"Better?" he asks, and Bucky nods slowly.

They work through all three pieces, Steve reminding Bucky of how nice Harry Rosen was, how interested he was in making sure the boys had something nice to look forward to on weeknights after work. He moves on, recounting the World's Fair and the dance halls, soda fountains and lunch counters and the little strip of town they used to walk down when they wanted to hold hands.

When they're done, Bucky's tears have dried. His face is less pallid, his arm has relaxed, his eyes look less wild. His breathing has evened. The bags under his eyes have deepened. Steve cleans up the box, rinses the fork, and then he leads Bucky back to bed. He presses the length of their bodies together, snuggles up real close to Bucky, making sure he feels safe, like Bucky used to do when Steve was the small one. They fall asleep, breathing in sync.


End file.
